Why I love NASCAR

Two words: Bobby Labonte.

Not since Roger Daltrey's face graced my 1970's TV screen as the adult Tommy in "Tommy have I been so overcome with... well..... dduuuuhhhhuuuyyyyy is kinda the only way to describe it.
I cannot believe I am 42 years old and I have a teenybopper-type crush on Bobby Labonte!

Here is how I became a NASCAR fan:

My husband and I are at our favorite second home, the Woodland Roadhouse, eating at the bar as usual, when I glance up at the TV and catch a glimpse of probably the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

Yes, I have used that phrase before - many, many, many manymannnnymny times before - but this... this was different. Bobby Labonte has the dreamy grin of Mel Gibson and the quiet charisma of George Clooney. I was sooooo smitten!

I made a mental note to Google NASCAR and Cheerios when I got home, and I immediately put up all sensory antennae. I was able to discern that a Daytona race was experiencing a rain delay. I watched #43 interact with the sportscaster and fell HARD. I had no idea race car drivers could be so damned handsome.

I did Google him. Bobby Labonte. Early 40's. 2000 Winston Cup champion. And he drove the Susan B. Komen pink Race for the Cure car too. I should note here (as I will elsewhere) that I am a breast cancer survivor and embrace causes for a cure. Especially when driven by (IMHO) the hottest man to ever wear a team uniform.

Thanks to Liz Allison, author of "A Girl's Guide to NASCAR", I learned a lot more about NASCAR. I can't get enough of it! I have actually become addicted to NASCAR.

I sometimes compare it to Dead Tour (only I don't go to the tracks)... like a jam band, race car drivers play a team sport. Every track is a different venue with a different set list, and each member has a slew of "behind the scenes" supporters who aid in the final production. The fans may wear a lot less tie-dye, but the energy is the same. Fans have a Driver (or team), as opposed to a favorite song, and while I know Bobby Labonte may not get to Victory Circle without a wreck involving the 19 cars ahead of him, I am happy just to see the bright 43 speed across my TV screen.

I'll still go on occasional jam band tours, but I'll be sure to pack my Bobby Labonte baseball cap!

Podunk Road

My driver's license still says it... 6098 Podunk Road, Trumansburg, NY.

It's in one of those neighborhoods where the address numbers are bigger than the homes, and where really big people drive really little cars, as opposed to my hometown of Manhattan, where quite the inverse is true.

Our quiet little hamlet of Podunk Heights - the region that begins at one edge of our property and ends at the other - became more like a stretch on the Podunk Parkway. We could here the thumping bass of the pizza delivery car from miles away, and our neighbor put such bright mercury vapor lights over his garage, we felt like we were living next to a gas station. Haven't people ever heard of timers?

So my husband, Chris, and I made the decision to make the move to my brother-in-law's newly acquired land and renovate an old farmhouse that happened to come with it. We are still in Trumansburg, but now we're in Seneca County - you can almost smell the comb-over hair oil as you cross over the county line. Trumansburg is full of Democrats - and there are a few Jews - but not the Seneca County edge.

Hence, I retain the title of Podunk Princess.

Our new home is incorporated as Porcupine Farm, and my husband proudly painted a handcut stenciled, spray-painted porcupine on our mailbox.

The farm is about 70 acres of fields, woods, and ponds. We (okay, he) planted a winter's worth of vegetables, I drive a tractor, and the only vehicles that travel on our road are either the people that live on it or the farm equipment operated by the next generation of local landowners.

On any given day, depending on the weather, I have my choice of what to weed, what to water, and what I can pretend I didn't see get eaten by wildlife.

And we have a lot of wildlife. Aside from raccoons, skunks, deer, rabbits, and other expected woodland creatures, we have coyotes, foxes, and even the occasional black angus cattle (or whatever those big black cows with tagged ears are called) whose successful escape from the neighbor's cattle farm means our dogs have something new, fresh and stinky to roll in. More about the dogs later, but needless to say, having a white dog makes it really easy to detect where the vile smells are coming from.

We have bugs. Lots of bugs. Crawling bugs, flying bugs, meat-eating bugs, dead bugs... ironically, it's the ladybug I have come to despise. Every Spring we get invaded...inside the house. They cluster by the thousands around the windows, and somehow manage to work their way into every aspect of life. They migrate in pocketbooks, they travel in luggage, they drop dead off the ceiling onto laptops. One night my husband and I went to dinner and we noticed a ladybug on his baseball hat. It spent the whole evening on his cap, and when we got home, Chris let it loose in the garden. The only thing I can do is wait for them to all die and then vacuum them up. If anyone knows a better way, please let me know!

We also have well water, which to me translates into "Well, we have water...". At least it's not sulfur water like on Podunk. There is no graceful way to welcome guests into a home that has sulfur water.

We do not have cable - but we do have one of those giant wok-like satellite dishes affixed to the side of the house. All the better to watch NASCAR with. Bobby Labonte is the dreamiest man in sports.

Oh... gotta go! Green flag at Chicagoland Speedway!